Last Call Casualty
by I Run With Sporks
Summary: An AU in which Jean is engaged, and Scott isn't thrilled. Alternately titled Freakishly Long And Melodramatic Oneshot Of Which I Am Faintly Ashamed.


**OhLordwhatiswrongwithme...**

**I feel so guilty for writing this. Like there aren't enough angst-swamped tales of fictional sorrow on this site, no, I HAD to contribute. Shame on me. FOR SHAME. **

…**.It's a pretty good song, though...**

**I am currently in the process of hunting down the characters of X Men Evo in an attempt to own the show, but it's not going so well. Probably 'cuz the only person I can ever catch is Kitty, and she KEEPS PHASING AWAY.**

**So for the moment, I own nothing. BAH.**

Scott Summers was drunk.

Actually, drunk didn't even _begin_ to cover it. He was absolutely plastered.

Had someone been encountering the man for the first time, this would probably have given them a very poor opinion of him- but in Scott's defense, this didn't happen very often. It might even have been a first.

It had started out innocently enough.

**HAVE A FLASHBACK:**

Scott craned his head around, trying to spot his little brother in the red-tinted crowd. Alex's flight had come in a while ago, but there was no sign of him yet.

Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Scott felt his expression melt into a faintly anxious scowl. Airports. So many bad memories.

How Alex could willingly fly was beyond him. He himself tried to avoid it if at all possible. Scott firmly believed that he and Alex had had enough airplane experiences to last a lifetime, and then some.

"Hey, I sink zat's him! Ze blonde guy over ze- Scott? You all right, man?" Kurt gave him a concerned look. Scott managed a lopsided smile.

Kurt Wagner was a good friend of his, who he'd met many years ago at the Xavier Academy for Gifted Youngsters, back when they had both been students. He had had dark blue hair since the age of fifteen, and firmly believed that life was a party. You had to try and enjoy it while it lasted.

"Yeah. M'good, thanks. Did you say you saw-"

"Brah!"

"Alex!" Grinning, Scott yanked his brother into a one-armed hug. The blonde returned in kind, whacking him on the back for good measure.

"Man, am I glad to see you guys! I'd forgotten what you looked like."

"Really?" Kurt asked, looking faintly impressed at such an accomplishment.

"No. Hey, can we get out of here? I've been on a plane for the past, I dunno, three years, 'n I'm about ready to climb the walls. I phucking _hate planes._"

"I know," Scott agreed. "C'mon, as soon as we get your stuff-"

"I got it. I just used a backpack."

"Then we're gone. The sooner, the better."

**STILL A FLASHBACK, BUT A DIFFERENT PART:**

"I don't understand how you're not jetlagged." Scott shook his head, watching his brother and Kurt play poker from the couch. "That is not natural."

"I never get jetlagged," Alex told him, too focused on the game to actually look at him while talking. "I'm just...gifted like that...there! Beat that!"

He threw down his cards, looking triumphant. Kurt smirked.

"Aaaand _boom_! Four of a kind!"

"What?! Aw, come on!"

"Go on, cough it up. Zhat's vhat, four games in a row, now?"

"Shut up, be quiet, you suck."

"Zat's almost fifty bucks you gave me!"

"Shaddup, quit rubbing it in!"

"Zis deserves a celebration! Everyone here is legal, right?"

"Uh, yeah..."

"Right, so Scott knows zis guy, who owns zis bar- 

"Oh no," Scott interrupted, adjusting his shades. "Not happening. We are not going to drink away all the money you conned out of my brother."

"Hey!" Kurt adopted an expression of mock outrage, flinging the rest of the cards into the air. "I did not con him! I von, remember?"

"And who taught you to play poker? Rogue. That's practically cheating."

"_Rogue_?" Alex gave a groan, slapping his forehead. "Aw, dude! Why didn't you warn me? If I'd known, I never would have played!"

"Exactly."

Rogue was Kurt's adopted sister, although neither had known of the other's existence until Kurt had come to the U.S. for schooling, years ago. Sarcastic, Southern, and Goth to the core, Rogue was excellent at poker- which her friends had found out the hard way.

"...gimme my money back."

"Er...how 'bout ve play another round for it?"

"WAGNER."

"Oh, come on! I vas going to treat you guys!"

"Uh, no," Scott watched as Alex repeatedly tried and failed to catch Kurt- the guy _was_ a former acrobat after all, and therefore nimble as phuck. "First of all, we aren't alcoholics like like you-"

"I am not an alcoholic!" Kurt leapt over the couch (and Scott) landing on the other side with ease and shooting his colleague a dirty look. "I am German. Zere _is_ a difference believe it or not."

"The hell does _that_ mean?" Alex gave up for the moment, crossing his arms and giving Kurt a quizzical look. "Is that even a German stereotype? I don't think it is... You are making your countrymen look bad..."

"Vell I'm German, I drink..."

"Secondly," Scott continued, closing his eyes behind his shades and massaging his temples. "If you're treating Alex with his own money, you aren't technically treating him, are you?"

"Except it's my money now, 'cuz I von it."

"BECAUSE YOU CHEATED."

"I did not!"

"Well, _technically_-"

"Geh!" Kurt flung his hands skyward with exasperation. "You and your_ phucking_ technicalities, Scott! You and Jean bose! Driving me _nuts_, all week long, don't you dare start now!"

"That reminds me," Alex said, brightening. "How is Jean, anyway?"

"Fine, I guess." Scott began studying the ceiling with interest.

"Whoaaa, turn down the enthusiasm!"

"Oh, shut up."

Jean was another teacher at Xavier's who had gone to school there with them. She was smart, ridiculously gorgeous, and could probably have played soccer for the U.S.A if so inclined. She also like to affectionately refer to Scott as "my bone-headed best friend".

It drove Scott nuts.

"Ah _Jean_," Kurt's tone seemed to suggest he knew something the other two didn't, and wasn't particularly pleased about it. "You vant to hear about _Jean_."

"Uh..."

"Vell _Jeeeean,_" He drew the name out for dramatic effect before getting to the point. "Is apparently quitting her job at Xavier's."

"What?!" Alex exclaimed gaping at him in disbelief. "Seriously? Miss I'm-In-Love-With-My-Work is quitting?"

"No way," Scott sat up, frowning. "That has to be the dumbest thing I ever- who told you that, anyway?"

"She did! I thought she'd already told you!"

Scott felt his jaw drop. This was no ridiculous rumor.

"...No. No, she didn't."

"Oh." Kurt's expression went from displeased to uncomfortable. An awkward silence filled the room.

"Well..." Alex broke the silence, trying to restart the conversation. "Did she say _why_ she decided to quit?"

"She did, actually." Kurt's relief at having a new person to focus on was evident in his face and tone. "You know her boyfriend, right?"

"The guy who used to beat up you and Tolanski, yeah." Scott stared at his folded hands, only half listening. Kurt scowled.

"Sanks _so_ much for reminding me. But yeah, zat guy. From vhat I gathered, he kept complaining about how all Jean cares about is her job, and... she said somezing about a big fight. Apparently he gave her an ultimatum, eizer she quit, or he'd leave her. Said he could support her instead."

"That makes no sense. Isn't she always going on about independence?"

"Yeah, ever since ve vere teenagers. Vhich makes zis even veirder, but her mind's made up. He's "Very important to her". She's leaving next veek."

"Bullshit." Scott stood up and began to hunt for his phone. "This is insane. There's no way she can go through with it. She's Jean phucking-"

"YOUR PHONE IS RINGING. YOUR PHONE IS RINGING. SCOTT, YOUR PHONE IS RINGING. DID YOU LOSE IT_ AGAIN_?"

"...Speak of the devil."

Scott fished his phone out from underneath the couch as it continued to yell at him in Jean's voice. He winced as it reached a crescendo, making a mental note to speak with her about that ringtone.

Flipping it open, he hit 'speak' and, noticing Alex and Kurt's interested expressions, walked into the next room.

"Hey, Jean."

"How'd you know it was me?" Her tone was honestly curious. Had it been otherwise, he would have assumed she was being sarcastic and gotten annoyed.

"Well, with the combination of Caller ID and that horrible horrible ringtone..."

"Oh. Right." She at least had the decency to sound faintly apologetic. Good.

"What can I do for you?" Like he didn't know.

"I kind of... I need to tell you something."

That you're quitting?"

"Who told you-"

"Kurt did, just now."

"God dammit."

"You know, it's kind of annoying that I heard this from him instead of you. When did you even decide this?"

"Sometime earlier this week," He heard her give an exhausted sigh. "Thursday-ish. I don't even know anymore."

"Are you okay?"

"Fine. I'm fine. But yeah, it's about that-"

"Jean, you can't do this. You _can't_. You're always telling me how much you love your job-"

"I-"

"You've been telling everyone since high school about how you always wanted to be a teacher- now that you actually are, you're giving it up!? Is Duncan really worth that? Really?"

"Listen-"

"Just because Mathews wants it doesn't mean you have to give in! Christ, I should not have to tell this to _you_ of all people. Whatever happened to independence?! The guy is not your father, he is not your husband, so why are you letting him tell you what to do with your life?"

"Scott!"

"Look, I'm your friend. I have been since we were fourteen. I care about you too much to let you do this without saying something and hoping you'll WAKE UP before you do something you're going to regret for-"

"SCOTT, I'M GETTING MARRIED!"

The world seemed to stop for a second.

Scott made a conscious effort to breathe. There was no way he could have heard that right.

"...What?"

"Duncan proposed before asking me to resign. That's why it was such a big deal."

This couldn't be _happening_. It had to be some kind of horrible dream.

A phucking NIGHTMARE.

He leaned back against the wall and slid downwards into a sitting position.

"I figured... well, I'm going to be his _wife_, I don't want to push him away... and I'm not giving up my independence. It's what I want. It's really not that big a deal."

There was a tiny pleading note in her voice, like she wanted some kind of reassurance that this was true. Unfortunately, Scott thought numbly, he'd never been able to lie to her.

"...Who knows?"

"Just you." She was smiling now, he could hear it in her voice. "I figured my bone-headed best friend ought to be the first person I told. Not even my family knows yet."

"...I see..."

"Scott? Are you okay? You seem kind of quiet."

"I'm fine." The first lie he'd ever told her. "Um...I've got to go. I'll...I'll call you back or something."

"Right. Alex is arriving today, isn't he? Tell him I said hi, would you?"

"'Course. Bye."

"Bye."

Jean hung up, which left Scott staring off into space, listening to the dial tone.

He was supposed to know how to fix any problem. At Xavier's, he was the teacher you came to, no matter what was wrong. He was used to having all the answers.

But what exactly did you do when the women you had been in love with since freshman year of high school got engaged to someone else?

What did you do if she seemed _happy_ about it?

"Phuck my phucking life."

"Uh, hello?" Kurt opened the door just wide enough to fit his head through. "Oh, are you still on ze-"

"No."

"\Kurt blinked, a bit confused at his friend's bluntness. "Okay zen. Alex and I talked it over, and he agreed zat since he probably vould have spent ze money on booze _ANYVAY_-"

"Not _all_ of it, you alcoholic!"

"SHUT UP ALEX, I'M DOING ZE TALKING! So ve decided zat ve are going drinking and ve vant you to go too. You don't _have _to drink, you can be Designated Driver or somezing-"

"Phuck that." Scott got to his feet, stretching. "C'mon. Let's go get drunk."

Kurt's eyes bulged. Withdrawing his head, he scrambled off to go find Alex, slamming into the doorway as he went.

"Mein Gott, it's a phucking miracle! SCOTT FINALLY GOT ZAT STICK OUT OF HIS ASS!"

"Can it, Wagner."

**END OF FLASHBACK**

So now, many hours later, Scott found himself slumped over the counter of a bar he just vaguely recognized, drunk off his ass, alone, and staring stupidly at a small puddle of spilled beer.

Must have been one hell of a party. Too bad he couldn't remember any of it.

"...'ow dih I ged here?"

"Drove, I guess," The only other human in sight, a bartender wiping glasses, told him with only a marginal amount of sympathy. "Not that you or your buddies were in any state to drive back. At least the other two aren't my problem anymore. This gorgeous chick came to drive them home an hour ago...wonder if she's single..."

"Amanda," Scott said with difficulty, a fuzzy memory of her lugging away Kurt and being followed by Alex resurfacing. "She 'n Kur' are in luuuurveee. He's prob'ly gonna maaaarry her."

For some strange reason, the word 'marry' caused him intense pain. He gave a loud groan, and the bartender whacked him with his dishcloth. "Shut up! Geez, between your rambling and your friend singing in French-"

"Sherman."

"I'd almost rather deal with him! At least he took requests!" The man gave an impatient sigh, then set down the glass he was cleaning.

"Look dude- er, sir. I'm closing up soon, so you'd better phone somebody to pick you up, 'cuz there's no way you can drive like this. Are you even capable of calling someone?"

Scott stared at him stupidly, marveling at how the world had gone fuzzy and kaledascopic. The bartender groaned, running a hand through his light brown hair. "God dammit. This never happens in movies. What am I supposed to do, kick you out? The phuck do I know about bartending anyway, I'm just trying to pay my tuition..." He wandered off, muttering to himself.

From far away, the words the bartender had spoken slowly began to sink in, sounding like meaningless gibberish apart from one word.

_'Phone.'_ Then slowly, numbly, and with great difficulty: _'I have a phone._

_'I have to use my phone.'_

"Fome," Scott mumbled, pawing at his coat. "Fome."

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, coming close to dropping it twice, then placed it on the counter and tried to figure out how to dial.

In the background, the bartender began to sing quietly to himself, something that Kurt had been bellowing earlier.

"_You,_

_You called me out_

_I know that you swore that you were done with me, _

_but I can't seem to remember at three A.M._

_Am I that guy?_

_The one who's happy hanging with my friends_

_Then five drinks and I'm in love again..."_

The phone rang, jerking Jean out of her sleep.

As it paused before the next ring, Jean tried to will her body to move and go get it. Duncan, sprawled out next to her, was a ridiculously deep sleeper and unlikely to hear it.

Who called at three in the morning, anyway?

The phone rang again, the otherwise silent apartment turning its trill piercingly loud. Jean squeezed her eyes shut, the beginnings of a headache already plaguing her.

With a noise like an angry walrus, Duncan got up, shuffling into the kitchen to find the devil instrument that was _still_ ringing. Apparently it was too loud to sleep through, even for him.

"Okay, this'd better be pretty phucking good. Who the_ hell_ is this?"

Silence while he waited for the other person to reply. Jean debated shoving a pillow over her head.

"ME? No, you don't ask me who _I_ am. I live here, asshole!"

Sure, she'd probably suffocate, but at least she'd have some _quiet_. And Duncan didn't live here, she thought grouchily. This was _her_ house! Honestly. Men!

"Jean? How exactly do you know my fiancee?"

Yes, how DID they know his fiancee? And did whoever it was know what she was going to do to them for waking her up at such an ungodly hour?

"What the-are you drunk? Who is this!? Oh, don't you phucking hang up on- And he just hung up on me. PHUCK."

Duncan stomped back into the bedroom, breathing hard.

"I think it's a prank call. Some douchebag, drunk off his ass, and asking to talk to you. He's gone now thou-"

The phone rang, interrupting his sentence. Duncan looked ready to explode.

"Or not," Jean observed tiredly. It was probably not what Duncan wanted to hear, but it was far to early to even try and be tactful. Duncan stormed out.

"Is this some kind of phucking game to you, shithead?! You think it's funny to- Don't you dare hang up again! Don't you- PHUCK!"

With great reluctance, Jean forced herself out of bed, dragging along her quilt like a multicolored blanket cape. Unless she intervened, the neighbors were going to start complaining.

She arrived in time to see Duncan snatch the phone back up in mid-ring and start yelling again. "You think you're funny, don't you?! Let's see how funny it is when I send my fist through your face! Grow a pair and come say that to my- ARGH!"

"You know, Jean said dryly, pulling the quilt tighter across her shoulders. "There's this little thing called star-sixty-nine."

Duncan stared at her as though he had never seen her before, then slowly turned his attentions back to the house phone in his hand. It began to ring.

"Star...six...nine." Duncan punched in the numbers, reading them aloud. He always did that when he was on the phone. Normally Jean found it endearing, but right now it irked her greatly.

Just like everything _else_.

"_Summers_," Duncan intoned darkly. "You had better pray I never see your face again because if I do, you are _dead_! You are _beyond_ dead, you are like the next phucking level of d-"

"Wait," Jean interrupted. "Summers? As in Summers-Masters, Alex?" It just_ figured_ he'd drunk dial her. He and Kurt both, the merry alcoholics of the Xavier staff/alumni- and now apparently they were_ her_ problem. Where the hell was Scott? Wasn't he supposed to be in charge of them?

"No," Duncan said flatly, getting off the phone to answer her question, still glaring venomously at the receiver. "The _other_ one."

Oh.

"Give me that."

"What?!"

"Duncan, please, just _give_ me the phone, NOW."

"Jean-"

"Duncan, let go."

Duncan relented, but he did not look happy about it. Jean ignored him, taking the phone back to the bedroom and sitting down on the bed. "Scott? It's me."

"Zheen?"

"Jean."

"Oh. There'j 'omethig...impordant I havez to tell yooou..."

"Okay..."

"...I dun't...I cahnd rem'mber..."

"You can't remember." Jean repeated, as though just trying to clarify. "You called my house, four times, at three in the morning to tell me something important, and you can't remember what it was."

"...I called b'fore?"

"Yes. You did. _Four times._"

"Oh yeah..." The amount of revelation in his voice was almost disturbing. Then it switched to alarm.

"Jeanie. Jean. Jean, Zheen, Jen-"

"Yes."

"You gotta get out. Dere's a guy in yer hoss- he picked up lass time. He musta brog in 're somethin...

you hafta ged out, idz nod safe..."

"You really are drunk." It hadn't quite sunk in before, despite the slurred speech and shortened memory- the whole idea had just seemed too bizarre. Scott- the most well behaved, straight-laced person out of all her friends, the guy who probably hadn't even drunk on his twenty first birthday, for crying out loud- was flat out _wasted_, and calling her.

"You don' unnerstan! I'm seriously, you haf tp-"

"Scott," Jean interrupted gently. "That wasn't a burgler. That was Duncan. He lives here." _'Occasionally.'_

"Who'th Duncan?"

"Scott, you _know_ Duncan. My fiance."

"Oh." He seemed slightly taken aback. Perhaps he was so drunk he'd forgotten the conversation they'd had earlier on the subject.

"Well...congratulations, I guess." He sounded a lot more lucid now, which was a relief. It had been getting difficult to understand what he was saying.

"Thank you."

"Thaz...really nice." In the background, she could hear someone singing.

"_So if I get drunk and call you up,_

_don't get pissed and don't hang up!_

_I know it's late, but it's never too late to be,_

_another last call casualty..."_

"Who's singing?"

"Uh? Oh, thas jus' Mister Katbus."

"_What did you call me?!"_ The background voice demanded indignantly. Scott ignored him. "Dond worry, he'sh a nize guy...screaming juz' makes him happy."

"_Oi!"_

Jean heard Scott laugh like crazy for a few seconds, then a loud clattering noise on his end. She frowned. "Scott?"

"Hey." The person who answered definitely wasn't Scott- if she had to guess, she'd say it was probably "Mister Katbus". "Sorry about that, he dropped the phone."

"No problem," Jean felt her headache return with a vengeance. "I am so sorry."

"No worries, not a problem," Mister Katbus assured her, a lot more polite with her than he had been with Scott. "But uh... I think you're going to need have to come get and get him. He's not going anywhere on his own."

"Of course," Jean gave a sigh and stood up, casting her bed a longing look. "Can you send me directions?"

"Yeah. Wait, this is a cell phone you're on, right?"

"Uh," Jean's eyes flicked to the house phone clamped to her ear. "No."

"We're on Beechtree and Yolanda. Place called 'Angel's'."

"Thanks. I'll be right there." She hung up with a groan, then began hunting for some clothes.

"So you're just going?"

Jean raised her eyes from her dresser to look at Duncan. He was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, and his expression made it clear he wasn't pleased.

She shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. "I can't just leave him there."

Duncan's face didn't change. "Why."

"Why?" Jean repeated, yanking on a shirt and trying to find her coat. "Because he's my best friend, and I know he'd do the same for me. Friends don't just abandon each other."

"I'm going to be your husband. Doesn't that trump 'friend'?"

"Excuse me?" Jean paused staring at him. "Where did that come from?"

"Jean," Duncan walked towards her, putting his hands on her shoulders. "As your fiance I'm telling you, _I don't want you to go_. Does that matter to you at all?"

"Dunc, _please_. Don't do this." Jean removed his hands, returning to the search for her coat. "I get that you don't like my friends, but you can't keep playing the _'I'm more important'_ card. It's getting ridiculous. Just because I'm trying to do something for someone does not mean you aren't important to me. But it doesn't mean you are the _only_ important person for me, and though Scott's being very annoying right now, he's still my best friend and I am _going_."

Straightening her found cout over her shoulders, Jean grabbed her car keys from the nightstand and strode out. Duncan followed, expression stormy.

Making an effort not to look at him, Jean wondered if she was being entirely fair. If one of Duncan's friends had called in the middle of the night, she'd have been pretty annoyed...

She shook the thought from her head, reaching the front door. She could worry about feeling guilty later.

She came to a stop just before stepping outside, and gave a gusty sigh. Damn it all, what did Scott have to go and get _drunk_ for?

"Is this how it's going to be?" Duncan asked softly, coming up behind her. "He gets drunk and you come running?"

"..."

"You can't _do_ this, Jean. It's not fair to you or me. We are getting married, and starting a new life, and we can't do that with people ramming in and dragging you off whenever they decide they need you."

"It's not- It isn't like that," Jean mumbled her reply, involuntarily hesitant. "This isn't a normal thing. He doesn't do things like this."

"He is now, isn't he?"

She couldn't think of anything to say to that. Without a word, she unlocked the door and walked out.

_'Angel's'_ wasn't hard to find. It was a nice place, a lot classier than she had expected- but Jean didn't tend to visit bars, so perhaps this was the norm.

Mister Katbus was revealed to be a young guy, somewhere in his late teens to very early twenties, small, slight, brunette, and wearing an expression of long suffering irritation. He seemed to be in the process of going home, but stopped what he was doing when he saw her walk in.

"Uh...hi. Are you here for-?"

"Yeah. Scott. Is he here?"

"Well, yeah. He's not exactly fit to be going anywhere _else_. Thank God you showed up, I wasn't sure what to do with him."

Mister Katbus- really, she ought to learn his real name- lead her to a back corner table where a rather disheveled looking Scott was holding a very serious mumbled conversation with a napkin. Mister Katbus flicked the side of his head.

"Hey. You. You're going home, buddy."

"Hermf?" Scott looked up blearily, confused expression morphing into delight upon spotting Jean. "I know you!"

"Good thing for you," Mister Katbus grumbled, looking rather embarrassed on his behalf. "I don't think she'd have been all that interested in getting up in the middle of the night to come rescue a complete stranger- oh, get _up_! Get off the floor!"

Jean and Katbus combined their efforts at heaving Scott, who'd gone boneless, off the floor, Mister Katbus rattling off an unending stream of curses as he did so. Jean couldn't blame him.

"There! All yours! My condolences, miss, but I need to get home before my roommate locks me out, if she hasn't already. Psychotic blind chick..."

He held the door open for them, then followed them out, turning in the opposite direction to go home. Jean watched for a few seconds, then turned away when he started singing.

"_I can't remember what I said_

_but I swear I meant no harm,_

_I tried to knock on your window, but_

_I set off your alarm_

_and the days dragged on like a tailpipe band,_

_the nights, they ain't so long_

_and the taxicab I'm riding in _

_is blaring our favorite song again..."_

"Jeeeeeeean?"

"I'm right here. Careful, don't step in the puke-puddle- oh, I hope that's not yours..."

"Is thiz real life, Jeeean?"

"Unfortunately, yes. My car's this way..."

With a lot more difficulty than Jean considered to be strictly necessary, she and Scott reached the beat up Toyota Camry. Scott promptly collapsed face first in the backseat, making Jean very thankful she had left the towel pile in there untouched. She knew keeping it was a good idea.

Leaning against the door frame with a sigh, Jean closed her eyes. She could still hear Mister Katbus singing, even though he had to be pretty far away by now. He was _loud_.

"_So if I get drunk, and call you up,_

_don't get pissed, and don't hang up,_

_I know it's late, but it's never too late to be-ee,_

_another last call casualty..."_

Slamming the door shut, she got in on the driver's side and started the car, turning on the radio to fill the silence. Scott appeared to have had his fill of drunken nonsense for the evening, still maintaining a spectacular faceplant in the backseat. And if he knew what was good for him, Jean thought, turning up the radio with an ominous scowl, he was NOT going to start barfing.

"_I'm sorry a guy picked up the phone,_

_my mind couldn't leave well enough alone,_

_and after the seventh call, he hit star-sixty-nine._

_He says if he finds me I'll be dead_

_but I'm already in my head_

_since he's the one that's lying_

_with you in your bed..."_

Scott made a forlorn noise, muffled by towels. Jean felt a slight twinge of guilt, then brushed it aside. If he was going to drunk dial her at three in the morning, he could deal with loud music.

By some miracle, they arrived in one piece.

Flat-out ignoring Jean's unspoken threat, Scott had indeed started puking, soaking the towels and causing a near crash when Jean has turned around to shriek at him. It had not helped matters that she had flung the sick-sprayed rags out the open car window, remembering too late that they could probably be washed. She considered it a tribute to her self-restraint that she'd reached the apartment without strangling him.

"Get out," Jean growled. Scott tried hard to comply.

"Th'...Th'dor..._stupid_ dooor,,,OBEN!"

"Oh, for Christ's sake..." Jean parked the car and got out to go help him. Honestly, what had made her think he was capable of doing _anything_ on his own? "Here. Hold onto my arm."

"M'kay."

"Now don't let go, and _please_ do try to walk."

"Yez."

Slightly hunched over, they stumbled through the front doors over to the elevator, pushed the button, and waited. Jean said a silent prayer that the elevator wouldn't make him sick again.

The light went on with a ding, and the doors opened. Jean led Scott inside and hit the button for the fourth floor, biting back a sigh as it began to move.

She wished it wasn't so _slow_. It probably would have been faster to take the stairs.

Scott sat down on the elevator floor, humming tiredly to himself. His memory proved surprisingly accurate for a drunk person- Jean could easily pick out the tune and imagine the lyrics.

_'So if I get drunk, and call you up,_

_don't get pissed_

_don't hang up_

_I know it's late, but it's never too late to be-e_

_another last call casualty..._

_Another last call casualty..."_

"Jean?"

"What?" She blinked, realizing she'd spaced out for a moment. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"Um..." Scott looked up at her from the floor, gaze the steadiest it had been for the past several hours. "M'sorry. About everythin'."

"You're..." Jean stared at him, feeling her frustrations ebb slightly. "Oh. Well, it's...it's okay."

"No," Scott told her seriously. "It iznd. M'sorry."

_'Maybe the alcohol's wearing off. He sounds almost normal, all...responsible.'_

"I forgive you, then."

"Thang you."

The elevator buzzed, coming to a halt. The doors opened. Jean helped Scott to his feet, and they wandered down the hallway as quietly as they could manage.

Reaching the apartment would have been a lot easier if Scott hadn't kept falling asleep while walking, but they got there. Jean fished a key out of her bag, muttering darkly to herself.

"...why do I even _have_ a key to your apartment? I don't remember you giving it to me... Here, the door's open, go."

"Mmhm," He obeyed, wandering inside, then discovered the couch, which was set up strangely close to the door. Yawning loudly, he lay down, looking like he had no plans of moving another inch.

Jean rolled her eyes, considered forcing him to go sleep in his own bed, then decided against it. Sleeping on the couch wasn't going to kill him.

She found a blanket in a crumpled heap on the floor. With a muted sigh, she spread it over her bone-headed best friend, who was either asleep, or going to be in seconds.

She had been out longer than she had expected- according to the watch on Scot's limp wrist, it was going to be light out soon. Duncan was going to be pissed.

_'Ugh. I really don't want to deal with that first thing when I get home. I am a terrible fiancee.'_

"Jean?"

Scott spoke so quietly that at first Jean thought she might have imagined it. She leaned back against the wall.

"Yeah?"

"I remembered."

She felt her brow furrow. "Remembered...what?"

"I remembered what I called to tell you."

"Oh." She waited, but didn't get an immediate response. "What was it?"

There was silence apart from their tired breathing.

"...I love you."

Jean felt as though her heart might have just stopped.

"What did you say?" Her whisper sounded choked with shock.

"I love you. I always have. Ever since we were in high school..."

It would have been better if he had been slurring or singing or yelling or anything else- _something_ signifying inebriation. Then she could have blamed the alcohol, and passed off Scott's confession as drunken rambling, forgetting all about it by the next morning.

This was different.

"...and I think I always will. Even if you do marry Duncan."

"No," Her muttering sounded weird even to herself. "No, please, no, you can't tell me this_ now_... Scott, _please_..."

"I wish you weren't marrying him, but...but I'm glad you're happy. That he makes you happy. I just want you to be happy..." He paused to yawn, and the rest of his sentence was almost inaudible. "'Cuz I'll still love you anyway."

"I have to go." Jean didn't wait for a response. She left and shut the door behind her in one breath. The second she was outside, her knees gave out, and she sat down with a very undignified thump.

She had no idea what to do with the information she'd just received. She couldn't _handle_ this.

She didn't doubt that Scott had still been a bit drunk- he was hardly prone to admissions of emotion when sober- but she still had a horrible sinking feeling that everything he'd told her was truth. And that was a _disaster_.

_'Is it?'_

_'Yes, it is!' _Jean squeezed her eyes shut, silently screaming at the headvoice who had dared speak up. _'Of course it is! I'M GETTING MARRIED!'_

_'Okay, but is this really such a big deal?'_ The voice persisted. _'You and Duncan are in love, which is _why_ you're getting married. Scott doesn't come into it. You don't feel for him the way he does for you. Right?'_

Jean opened her eyes.

She would have loved to agree with the headvoice, ending the conversation (And hopefully, the voice's existence.) right there, but...

Did she have feelings for Scott?

No. Of course not. Impossible.

Once upon a time, when they'd been younger and more hopeful, certainly. But not anymore, surely. She had Duncan. She loved Duncan. She had agreed to MARRY Duncan.

Except...

She buried her face in her hands.

Except that she'd hesitated.

The night Duncan had proposed to her, she'd said yes, but for just a few seconds she had wanted... well, what, she wasn't sure. But she'd had this strange little pinch that made her hesitate before agreeing, and she couldn't for the life of her understand what it was.

Duncan hadn't noticed, thank God. She really hadn't needed to worry. But it had bothered her, and-

_'And I automatically went to Scott for reassurance.'_

"Oh, God..."

Why had she said yes? What had possessed her to agree to love someone for the rest of their lives before she was absolutely, positively, completely sure she wasn't still unconsciously pining after someone she had been entirely convinced never loved her back? This wasn't fair to Duncan.

And WHY couldn't Scott have told her this _years_ ago, instead of letting her think he'd never liked her that way, letting her move on, meet someone else, date that guy for years and set up a life he wasn't part of- why did he wait until now, when she was marrying somebody else?

"Phucking Scott." Jean whispered miserably. "Phucking Scott Summers. Phucking _bonehead_. Why did you have to get drunk? Why couldn't you have let me this was over with?

Why couldn't you have just told me _before_?"

She sniffed, then got up shakily, and walked to the elevator, sighing heavily. _'Jean Grey: Unlikely and unwilling victim of another last call casualty.'_

_So if I get drunk and call you up,_

_don't get pissed-_

_don't hang up._

_I know it's late, but it's never too late to be..._

_Another last call casualty._

**That was ridiculously long. I am so sorry.**

**Weirdly enough, I've actually grown very attached to Mister Katbus. I'm kind of tempted to write something describing the adventures of him and his crazy blind roommate...**


End file.
